


Scenes from my RP Blog

by punkrockgaia



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Death, M/M, Sadness, this will only make sense if you read my RP blog but what the hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:10:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3606267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockgaia/pseuds/punkrockgaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've not been writing as much as usual, but I have written some things based upon my RP blog (voicececilgpalmer.tumblr.com). I haven't posted them, but I figured I might as well. Special thanks to my RP partners earl-harlan (earl-harlan.tumblr.com), strexmachine (strexmachine.tumblr.com, Daniel) and spiderwolfgirlscout (spiderwolfgirlscout.tumblr.com, Lentil). </p>
<p>Things to know -- in my blog, Cecil was engaged to Earl Harlan for a while. Earl had a fling with Daniel, but Cecil and Earl stayed together. Then Cecil hooked up with Daniel, Earl got angry and left Cecil, and Cecil and Daniel stayed together. Oh, and Cecil has two children, Lentil with Earl and Newton with Daniel. It's a little soapy from time to time... :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wildflowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earl-harlan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=earl-harlan), [strexmachine](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=strexmachine), [spiderwolfgirlscout](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=spiderwolfgirlscout).



> Earl's mun had to take a brief hiatus, during which time Earl (the muse) was assumed to be dead. He came back after a few weeks, but we decided in blog time that it was four years later. This takes place during that hiatus.

Cecil looked into the den where his children were playing and smiled. Lentil, his oldest, was sticking multicolored alphabet fridge magnets to her brother Newt’s face. What an amazing blessing it was to have two such wonderful kids, kids who loved each other so much! Beaming, he swept into the room to see Lentil’s work. He paused in front of Newt and squinted.

The letters “A-S-S” went across Newt’s forehead, and there was a “B-U” on one cheek and a “T-T” on the other. 

“What does it say, Papa?” asked Newt, eyes wide and innocent. 

“It says, uh, ‘Fantastic Brother,’” Cecil replied, picking the magnets off his son as his daughter giggled.

“But that’s too many letters, Papa, I —“

“Hey, Buddy, why don’t you go find Daddy, huh? I think that he has some gluten-free cephalopod crackers with your name on them! Lentil and I have to go out for a little while, but we’ll be back soon.”

“Cephalopod crackers? Oh, boy!” Newt jumped to his feet and scampered out of the room. Once his footsteps echoed down the hall of the little house, Cecil turned to his daughter, hands on his hips. 

“Cira Lentil Harlan-Palmer, you do not call your brother an a— that name. Where did you even learn such language?”

Lentil snorted, indignant. “That’s what you called Uncle Steve last week!”

Cecil grinned at the memory, then forced his face into a stern expression. “Here’s a good rule of thumb, little girl. If I call your Uncle Steve something, that is something you should not call your brother. Understand?”

Lentil nodded, grudgingly. “I understand.”

“Good.” Cecil ruffled her flame-red hair. “Now get your jacket, it’s time to go visit your Daddy.”

“Do I haaaave to?” Lentil whined. 

“Yes. You have to. And you should want to.”

“But Paaaaapa! I want cephalopod crackers, too!”

“No buts. Come on. I packed a picnic lunch, and I’ll take you for ice cream after.”

“You always say that,” Lentil grumbled, but she got to her feet and grabbed her jacket, a khaki affair with patches sewn onto the front. 

“That’s my girl. Now come on, let’s get in the car.”

Lentil trudged to the door and out to the driveway, looking as though she was going to go have a tooth pulled. She got into the backseat of Cecil’s old, battered Volvo sedan and buckled her seatbelt, then stared morosely out the window. She hated to go visit her other father. It made her feel all gross and empty inside, and it made her stomach hurt. And it made her Papa sad. He always said they’d go out for ice cream after, and they did, but he never ate his ice cream. Instead, he’d just pick at it, then drive them back home and go right to bed when they got there, and then Daniel would have to make dinner and he never cut the crusts off of the grilled cheese right. 

“Whatcha thinking about, oh eldest spawn of mine?” Cecil called from the front seat.

“Nothin’,” Lentil replied, rolling her eyes. She hated it when her Papa used fancy words. It made her want to kick him on a good day, and today was not a good day.

“Isn’t it a beautiful day? The desert flowers will be out and blooming!”

“Guess so.”

“It’s the perfect day to go visit your daddy. I’ll make you a flower crown and we’ll have a nice time.”

“Yeah,” Lentil answered without enthusiasm. Cecil turned the car off onto a dirt road, and soon parked beside a little patch of sagebrush. He opened his car door and got out and got the picnic basket out of the trunk. When Lentil didn’t get out after a few moments, he opened her door and stood next to the car, arms crossed, foot tapping. She got out and they started walking, her shuffling steps several paces behind his striding ones. Cecil looked at her over his shoulder. 

“You keepin’ up, Puddin’ Cup?” he called out. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Lentil groused, feet heavy. 

They walked along for another few minutes until they came to a small patch of tended land, a rectangular area with a worn wooden plaque at the top bearing a name and two dates. The entire thing was covered in a riot of wildflowers. Cecil stood at the foot of the plot and smiled softly.

“Hiya, Early Bird.” He spread out the picnic blanket and sat down, patting to signal Lentil to sit beside him. He continued to address the ground. “Lentil’s here with me. We miss you. Say hi to Daddy, Lentil.”

Lentil picked at the leaves of a small flower that she found growing next to the blanket and mumbled “Hi.”

“She was so excited to come see you! Really, she was. She’s just, uh, you know, kids and all.” He unwrapped a sandwich and handed it to Lentil, who promptly set it on a nearby anthill. Cecil pulled out some pieces of apple smeared with almond butter and munched on them, while chatting away to the dirt and flowers.

“Lentil’s in preschool already, can you believe it? And she’s doing great! She can already read and spell so well! You should have seen her earlier with the alphabet magnets! Well, actually, she was quite naughty, but it was still very clever,” he nattered.

Lentil had long since stopped paying attention and started ripping up clods of dirt and seeing how far she could toss them. Cecil finished his apple and began to carefully pluck the delicate little flowers and weave them together.

“And Newt’s doing well, also. He’s in the first grade, too, but not the same class. We didn’t think it was a good idea. Lentil can be a little bit competitive at times.” He looked over at his daughter. “Lentil! Stop that! It’s not respectful.” A bit later, he held up a finished flower crown and put it on Lentil’s head. “Here, now you look like a proper princess.”

Lentil leapt to her feet with a growl, tearing the crown off her her head and stomping on in while Cecil gaped.

“I don’t want to look like a proper princess! Flower crowns are stupid, and you’re stupid, and Daddy’s stupid,” she screamed, pulverizing the tender blossoms.

Cecil stared at her, blinking away tears. “You… you don’t mean that, Darling. Not about Daddy, at least.”

“Yes! Yes, I do! I hate Daddy! I hate him! I wish Daniel was my real Daddy!”

“Lentil, honey,” Cecil held his arms out to her, but Lentil pushed him away and threw herself on the grave, kicking and punching at the dirt.

“You’re a bad Daddy! You’re the worst Daddy! Good Daddies don’t make Papa sad! Good Daddies don’t leave their little girls! Good Daddies aren’t dead and in the ground! Good Daddies don’t —“ She was cut off as Cecil swept him up in his arms and pulled her into a crushing hug. As he did, Lentil wailed, tears she didn’t know she had pouring from her eyes.

“Shh, shh, baby girl.” Cecil held her and rocked her, petting her hair. “Shhh…”

“I hate Daddy,” she choked. “I hate that he’s dead and he left us.”

“I know, Sweetheart. I hate that he left us too. But he didn’t mean to. He loved you very very much.”

“Then why did he leave?” she snuffled.

“I don’t know, Cinnabon. No one knows. I just know that there is no way he would have left you if he had any choice at all. He never would have.”

“I miss him.”

“I do, too, Lollipop.”

“I’m sorry I said I hated him. I don’t. I love Daddy.”

“He knows, Honeydew. Wherever he is, he knows.”

Lentil was quiet for a moment, then wailed anew. Cecil held her close, whispering “What is it, Darling?”

“I’m a bad kid.”

“What? No! No, no, no… Is this because I called you naughty for putting ‘assbutt’ on your brother’s face? Because if it is —“

“Papa, no! I’m a bad kid, ‘cause, ‘cause, ‘cause I said I wanted Daniel to be my real daddy!”

“That doesn’t make you bad!”

“Buh-buh-but I love Daddy! And I love Daniel! And I can’t love them both.”

Cecil chuckled. “Of course you can.”

“How?”

Cecil stretched out his hands in front of his daughter. He pointed to the ring finger of his left hand, where a titanium band shone. “What’s this?”

“Your wedding ring.”

“And I’m married to…”

“Daniel.”

“And why do I wear it?”

“Because you love him?”

“Right. Now, what’s this?” He pointed to his right hand, which sported a wooden ring on the third finger.

Lentil shrugged. “I dunno. Some dumb thing you made.”

“Some dumb thing I made for your father, you mean. Do you know why I wear it?”

“No.”

“I wear it because I love him, too.”

Lentil gasped. “Does Daniel know that you love Daddy?”

Cecil smiled. “Of course.”

“Doesn’t he get mad?”

Cecil kissed his daughter’s forehead. “No, he doesn’t. Because he loves me, and he loves you, and he knows that your Daddy will always be a part of us, no matter what.” He hugged her. “So it’s okay if you love Daniel and your Daddy both, you understand?”

Lentil thought for a minute, then nodded, rubbing her eyes. “I think so.”

“Good.”

“But it makes you sad to think of Daddy.”

“It makes me sad because he’s gone and I miss him, but I’d rather be sad and miss him than to have never known him at all. But you don’t have to be sad if you don’t want, okay?”

“Okay.”

They were quiet for a moment, then Lentil tipped her head back to look at her father. “Papa?”

“Yes, Sun-drop?”

“Would you make me another flower crown? I’m sorry I mushed the other one.”

“Of course! And it’s okay that you mushed the first one, it didn’t suit you. Tell you what, how about I make you a really tough-looking flower crown this time? ‘Cause you’re the toughest princess in the world.”

Lentil nodded resolutely. “I am. I’m a spiderwolf, too.”

Cecil laughed and began work on a new crown, shaking his head. “You’re definitely your father’s daughter, you know that?”

“Really?”

“Yup. One hundred percent. Well, fifty percent, I guess. Hey, did I ever tell you about the time your Daddy taught me how to hijack the signal at NVCR?”

Lentil giggled. “Did he really do that?”

“He did. We were about, ooh, twelve, and we were in Scouts together, and we had to get this badge called ‘Subversive Radio Host,’ and…”

Cecil continued the story as a light spring wind breathed across the earth. Someday, probably sooner than he’d like, there’d be more difficult questions and more difficult answers, but for now, everything was good, here in the bright spring sun with Lentil and Earl, and all around them the dancing scent of wildflowers.


	2. Time in a Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About Daniel. All lyrics are credit to Jim Croce.

_If I could save time in a bottle_  
_The first thing that I’d like to do_  
_Is to save every day till eternity passes away_  
_Just to spend them with you_

You are 35 when you meet him. You have always been 35, even when you were just moments old — an idealized, perfected kind of 35. You are settled, mature, career-oriented, even a bit wise — with none of the physical effects of encroaching middle age to burden you. You have no other burdens, either; no family, no friends, no special affection for anyone, and, you are told, you lack the ability to have these things. These things are unproductive.

You are a perfect employee. You go where you are told, do as you are told. You are told you are a radio producer now. You take to it just as you take to every other task you’ve been given — resolutely, steadily, calmly, perfectly.

He is 35 as well, perhaps a bit younger. He is not mature, does not seem particularly wise. As for his career, he is attached to it in an emotional way that is not particularly productive, but is particularly irritating. He is irritating. He is more than irritating, he is annoying, obnoxious, rage-inducing.  
You should not be able to experience rage, but there it is. Before you can parse this unexplained emotion, you take a photograph of some kittens and everything goes dark.

****

You are 35 when you become friends. He is 35 as well, but 35 and change, older than he was when you knew him before. You become friends over a crowbar and a fight and a man you both love. When he leaves, he has your assurance that you will not pursue the man, both for the sake of your new friend and for the sake of the child growing inside him. When he leaves, he leaves you to new feelings. Guilt. Remorse. Heartbreak.

****

You are 35 when you fall in love with him. It happens not with tumult and fire, but over pizza and old movies. You are 35 when you realize that you should not feel like this. You are 35 when you realize that you cannot help it.

****

You are 35 when it all becomes clear in a night of passion and breathless declaration, when you learn he loves you back. You leave his apartment with the smell of him on your skin and the taste of him in your mouth, you leave with reality tying your feet to the ground even as your heart wants to soar to the stars.

****

You are 35 when you learn he is carrying your child, when in a storm of joy and sadness and anger and fear he comes to live with you. You are 35 when you become a stepfather and when you lose the man you both love, when you have to hold your lover together even though you want to fall apart. You are 35 when you become a father.

****

_If I could make days last forever_  
_If words could make wishes come true_  
_I’d save every day like a treasure and then_  
_Again, I would spend them with you_

You are 35 when your lover becomes your husband. He is 36. The age difference is barely perceptible — he looks much the same as he did when you first met, but so beautiful, so radiant. You take his hand in yours and begin to think of words like “forever.”

****

You are 35 when your first love comes back. Your husband is nearing 40. Your son and your stepdaughter are four. You are all confused, disoriented, but your husband spirals down so far you fear you will not be able to reach him. At the last moment you reach out and grab him out of the abyss.

“You came home to me,” he says.

“You are my home,” you answer.

****

He is 50 when you begin to worry about time. You are 35. Your children are young teenagers. There have been so many changes over the last decade, so many compromises and re-imaginings of how life should look. Through all of it, your marriage has stayed strong. You have stayed strong as well. Your husband is also strong, but is starting to weaken. You are so aware of organic bodies, how they wear out. You are aware of the cane he uses on bad days, of the ever-thicker lenses that correct his fading vision. He sees your worry and laughs and calls you his trophy husband. You laugh, too, and pull him close for a kiss.

****  
_But there never seems to be enough time_  
_To do the things you want to do, once you find them_  
_I’ve looked around enough to know_  
_That you’re the one I want to go through time with_

On his 60th birthday, you are absent for most of the day. Though it pains you to ignore his increasingly-piqued messages, you do not want to ruin the surprise. You come home just before dinnertime to find him sulking in the kitchen. It takes some cajoling to get him to turn around and look at you, but when he does, his face goes blank, taking in your new faceplate (the one with crow’s-feet at the corners of the eyes) and the newly-planted streaks of silver at your temples.

“What have you done with my trophy husband?” he asks, still expressionless.

“I, well, I, uh,” you stammer, unnerved.

He walks toward you, staring you down. “You’ve taken my trophy husband and replaced him with a silver fox, that’s what you’ve done.” A grin begins to play across his lips until it turns into a full-blown leer. He laces his fingers through your hair and kisses you, hard.

At that moment, the doorbell rings. The kids are home from college, interrupting you yet again. So what else is new?

****

When he turns 70, you feel the worry that you’ve stored up unexpectedly ease. He still seems so strong, so unchanged, other than the cane (which is now a permanent fixture) and the introduction of bifocals, which he hates but grudgingly wears. You have kept pace with him visually, adding wrinkles and more grey hair as the years go along. Of course, your changes are all cosmetic. Inside, you are 35.

The kids are no longer kids, they’re adults, hard though that is to believe. There are even grandchildren now, and your husband spoils them as much he did their mother, telling them wild stories in his strong, clear voice.

He will be with you forever, you are sure.

****

_If I had a box just for wishes_  
_And dreams that had never come true_  
_The box would be empty, except for the memory of how_  
_They were answered by you_

The decline starts imperceptibly, somewhere between 75 and 80. He starts to forget things, little things like where he left his keys or what he was supposed to get at the store. Then the little things become bigger things, like the way back home from the store or the names of his grandchildren. He covers well (he’s always loved pet names), but you see the confusion and fear in his beautiful eyes.

He never forgets you.

With the mental decline comes a physical one. There are minor illnesses that become drawn-out, turn into complications and hospital stays. There are falls that can’t be explained by fatigue or too much bourbon. There’s an ever-expanding array of pills, all lined up neatly on the counter. He forgets to take them, or forgets that he’s already taken them and takes them twice.  
You do what you have to do. You take a leave from work to look after your husband.

You are 35.

****

You spend your days looking after him, and things fall into a comforting sameness. You love the sameness, and you love your husband, even though he gets scared and angry when things refuse to make sense in his clouded mind. You hold him through his fears and his rages, whisper words of comfort until he relaxes.

One evening, he is not comforted. He does not remember you.

It strikes you like a blow to your heart, but you adapt, and the next morning he smiles at you and calls you by name. You are relieved, telling yourself it was a momentary lapse. For a while, that’s true. Then he forgets you again, and again, and the forgetting sticks longer and longer. Soon, he’s completely lost to a haze, calling out for friends and lovers long dead, fretting about his infant children now grown.

Things deteriorate quicker after that. He forgets how to eat and must be fed. He forgets how walk and stays in bed. It hardly matters, he sleeps much of the time.  
One night you lay down next to him and take him in your arms. He wakens, unexpectedly. He looks at you and sees you, really sees you for the first time in months.

“You came home to me,” he whispers.

“You are my home,” you answer, and kiss him. He sighs and falls back asleep.

That night, his breath slows and his heart beats its last. For a moment, you feel his neurons twinkle out a final impulse. You hope he is having a beautiful dream.

You are 35.

****  
_But there never seems to be enough time_  
_To do the things you want to do, once you find them_

The funeral is barely imprinted on your memory banks, a fog of sympathy and murmured assurances. Your son stays at the house for a few days after, trying to keep you company, but eventually you send him back to his life.

He is 35. Your stepdaughter is near 40.

You are 35.

You go back to work, the only thing you know to do. You work and you work, long into the night, into the night and the day after and the day after that, but it brings you no pleasure, so you resign. You travel, visiting your son and then your stepdaughter and her children. Their love brings you a measure of comfort, but they no longer need you. They are secure in their own lives, happy with what they have.

You realize that it is time.

You share your decision with the children. They argue at first, reassure you that you always have a place with them, that they love you, that you still matter to them. You tell them that you know, that they’re wonderful, that they are all you could have hoped for, that you love them, too. You explain.

After a long, long talk, they nod and you all exchange tear-streaked hugs.

You tell your stepdaughter that you are so proud of her, that she is a fantastic person and an amazing mother. You tell her that in your heart, she is your daughter, and that you have loved her since you met her as an infant. You tell her to hug the grandkids for you.

You tell your son not to give up hope. That his existence may seem like a curse at times, but that it is actually a blessing. You tell him that what he’s been given is a gift, just as he’s been a gift to you. You hug him close and tell him to wait for the person who will make him happy, that he has all the time in the world.

Your children ask you “When?” You can only reply “Soon.”

One day it feels right. You check your calendar and realize it is your anniversary.

You slip on your rings and put his in your pocket, then drive to the cemetery. You sit down on his grave. You talk to him for a while. You take the rings out of your pocket and set them on the scrubby grass, then lie down.

You initiate your permanent shutdown sequence.

It takes longer than you expect. The darkness comes first, then you get cold, then your body goes numb. You feel yourself slip. You hold on to your memories of your life as long as you can until your mind goes blank.

You were 35.

****  
_I’ve looked around enough to know_  
_That you’re the one I want to go through time with_

There is a light. A light with no fixed source, a light that grows imperceptibly until it fills your vision. You wonder if your own neural circuits are firing for one last time, giving you this image of light, when you feel a hand slip into yours, see a smile, hear a resonant voice.

“You came home to me,” he says.

“You are my home,” you answer.

You are ageless.


	3. Auto-Erotica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silly fun with Cecil and Daniel. Based on a conversation with the awesome Meveret (meveret.tumblr.com), who you should be following RIGHT NOW.

Tick… tick… tick…

Daniel the Mechanic’s sensitive ears picked up the tick of high-heeled shoes on concrete, prickling above the tinny blare of country and western music issuing from the cheap transistor radio on a nearby shelf. He straightened from his position overlooking the engine block of the old Volvo, then turned just in time to see 5’9” of man, dressed in stiletto heels, a crop top, and a very skimpy miniskirt.

“Mr. Palmer,” the mechanic said, closing the hood. “Your vehicle is nearly ready.”

“Mmm, I knew you’d be able to fix it. You have very capable hands,” Cecil purred, unwrapping a lollipop and sucking on it seductively. “What did you find?”

“Well,” Daniel said, checking an invoice. “You have an oil leak, and your muffler is badly rusted.”

“Ooh, that sounds expensive!” Cecil breathed. “How will li’l ol’ me manage to pay for that?”

“There are ways,” Daniel replied. “You could defer some repairs until you have the money saved, or perhaps we could work out a payment plan.”

“A payment plan?” Cecil sashayed over to the car. “Like what?”

“You could perhaps pay it off weekly, with a small service fee and a slight interest charge.”

“Or…” Cecil said, dramatically splaying himself over the hood, “maybe I could work off my bill.”

“If you’re a certified mechanic, that may be something we could look into…”

Cecil grunted and pushed himself back to a standing position, stamping his foot. “Daniel! Those are not your lines! Try to concentrate.”

Daniel thought for a moment, then frowned. “I’m sorry, Cecil.”

Cecil sighed heavily. “What’s wrong? We talked about this!”

“I know, I know,” Daniel said, placatingly. “I’m just having trouble suspending disbelief.”

“And why, might I ask, is that?”

“Several reasons.” He held up his index finger. “First, you are dressed very inappropriately for a commercial auto repair shop. There are lots of chemicals and heavy machinery in such places, and you could get quite badly injured. You should wear a coverall and sensible shoes, as I am.” He gestured to himself.

“We’re not in a commercial garage, Daniel. We’re in our garage. This is role-play, remember? You’re just supposed to say something like ‘and now I have to check your tailpipe’ and have at me on the hood!”

“Second,” Daniel continued, holding up another finger, “it would be most exploitative of me to accept sexual favors in exchange for automotive repair. Third, it is very poor business practice. Why would I do this? It would be damaging to the bottom line of the shop. Am I a disgruntled employee who wants to see the business fail? I simply don’t know!”

“Ugh, and now you’re a method actor?”

“And fourth, finally, you are always scolding the children for eating unhealthy food between meals, but here you are with candy.” He pointed at Cecil’s lollipop.

Cecil screamed and threw the offending candy into a nearby trashcan. “The kids aren’t here, Daniel. This is date night. That was a prop. It literally could not matter less!”

“But it does matter. Parents teach their children by example.”

“But — arrrgggh!” Cecil grabbed his head. “Never mind, the mood’s gone. Let’s go in and get changed and have dinner.”

Daniel sighed and put his hand on Cecil’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Cecil, I’m quite new to this.”

Cecil closed his eyes, breathed deeply, then patted Daniel’s hand. “I know. It’s okay. This was probably too advanced for a starter. Next time we’ll just do the pizza delivery guy and the bored househusband.”

“That one is even more nonsensical, actually. Do you know how thin the margins are on food-delivery services? Plus the delivery person would surely be penalized by his manager if he returned without the money for the pizza.”

Cecil looked at his husband evenly. “Oh. Well, the delivery guy didn’t study basic microeconomics or accounting, so he’s planning to quit to go to community college right after that delivery and better himself.”

A smile slowly dawned over Daniel’s face. “Ohhhh… I get it now.”

Cecil rolled his eyes and smiled fondly. “Great. I’m glad. Now come on, grease monkey, let’s get you cleaned up before you get motor oil all over the house.”

Daniel followed him indoors. “Hey, Cecil? Later, can I, uh, check your tailpipe?”

“The auto mechanic thing is over, Daniel, I told you.”

“No, I’m being serious. I didn’t get a chance to check over your entire exhaust system. And you do have an oil leak and your muffler is badly rusted. You should take it into the shop on Monday.” 

He paused. “But dress more appropriately, please.”

Cecil giggled. “Why Daniel, I do believe you’re jealous!”

Daniel blushed. “Oh, of — of course not! I just don’t want you to trip and fall or something similar…”

Cecil turned and kissed Daniel gently on the mouth. “You’re a dork, you know that?”

Daniel nuzzled his neck. “Yes, but I’m your dork, aren’t I?”

“You are. Now let’s get your tailpipe into the bath, huh?” He slapped Daniel on the ass. Daniel jumped, then chuckled, and the two sauntered through the house together, hand-in-hand.


	4. Happy Birthday, Daniel!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel doesn't have a birthday. Cecil aims to do something about that.
> 
> (Claire is Daniel's sister, and Eugene is an OC created by the awesome candycoatedcadavers! (candycoatedcadavers.tumblr.com))

_A soft desert twilight in late winter. Two husbands walk along, arms linked, each pushing a stroller containing a squirming baby. One man listens attentively as the other finishes a story._

“And then, because of the prophecy, I got my notebook for my birthday! I still have it, see?” Cecil pulled a tattered notebook from his back pocket. The cover reads “Little Reporter’s Book of Big Boy Note Taking,” the title floating in cheery balloon letters over a picture of an anthropomorphized pencil wearing a fedora with a press pass tucked into the band. 

“Yes, I’ve seen it on your nightstand. It’s very nice,” Daniel replied, indulgently.

“And that’s why that was my best birthday ever! I found out what my destiny was to be, and I got a present that I still use!” Cecil smiled, pleased. “So what’s yours?”

“Mine?” Daniel tilted his head to one side. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”

“What’s your best birthday ever? And when _is_ your birthday? Wow, you’d think I should know something like that, huh? Geez, what a crappy husband I am!”

“It’s not your fault,” Daniel said, patting Cecil’s arm. “I don’t have a favorite birthday story, or any birthday stories. I don’t have a birthday.”

Cecil stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and grabbed Daniel’s elbow. “What do you mean?”

Daniel quirked an eyebrow. “I was never born, so therefore, no birthday.”

“But, I mean, there was a day when you were turned on, right?”

Daniel grinned. “Yes. Frequently. Just last night, as a matter of fact, when you were wearing your skinny jeans, the violet ones.”

Cecil slapped his arm, blushing. “No, I mean, a day when you woke up… You know, when you were suddenly you?”

Daniel nodded, chuckling. “Yes, I did have an activation day. Unfortunately, I don’t know when that is, exactly. My internal calendar got reset after that unfortunate incident with the kitten photos. Which is not an event I care to commemorate.”

“Ugh, that’s horrible.”

“Not horrible, just a fact of life as a biomech. We were never born, which means there is no reason to celebrate our birth.”

“Horrible,” Cecil repeated, shaking his head. He was lost in thought for a moment, then turned to Daniel. “Hey, you wanna go to the Pinkberry and get fro-yo?”

“Yes, that would be most acceptable,” Daniel said, pressing a kiss to Cecil’s cheek. 

_A few days later. A biomech, as tired as biomechs ever get, nonetheless bounces up the stairs to his porch and goes into his house. His husband is pacing in the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear._

“Yes, but surely **someone** has the records. What kind of a business — Well, transfer me to him! Yes, I’ll hold.” Cecil jumped slightly when he saw Daniel standing in the doorway, then mouthed _I’m on the phone_. He pushed his way past Daniel and went into their bedroom, closing the door behind him. 

Daniel sat down at the kitchen table and sighed. Cecil was no doubt working on a story. He took his work home too much. He watched the cat clock tick and wave its tail and shift its eyes back and forth for a while as he drummed his fingers on the table. After a bit, his tie began to irritate him. He was ready to change from his business suit to his casual, at-home suit. He stood and went back to their bedroom and tried the door. Locked. He knocked, but there was no answer. Alarmed, he pressed his ear to the simulated wood.

“Well, that doesn’t give me much time! No! Never mind! Get out of my head, plutocrats!” 

Daniel was about to knock again, when the door swung open and Cecil stood there, blushing. 

“I, uh, was on the phone with the Water Department, trying to get the bill sorted. I don’t think we should have to pay for the two days last month when the taps just played Bach’s ‘Toccata and Fugue in D Minor’ rather than giving water.”

Daniel blinked. “Quite so. But I would say the Water Department is less a plutocracy than a municipal dictatorship, wouldn’t you?”

Cecil smiled and pressed his palm to Daniel’s cheek. “Yes, quite right, my brilliant darling.” He took a deep breath and stretched. “Ready for dinner?”

Daniel nodded. “Yes, as soon as I can get changed.”

“Of course. I’ll get the kids into their high chairs.” He grinned broadly. “It’s a treat, we’re having tuna noodle tonight!”

Daniel smiled and nodded, happy he didn’t have to eat. He hated tuna noodle casserole.

_Two days after. A happy family sits in the living room, two men on the couch and two babies in bouncy swings. One of the men jumps up, brandishing a tape measure._

“Hey, you know what would be fun?”

“What, Cecil, Darling?”

“To see how long all of our arms are, and how big around our necks, shoulders, chests, and waists are!”

Daniel stared at Cecil. “Is that a ‘fun’ thing that people do?”

Cecil nodded, enthusiastically. “Yes! Well, it’s a fun thing that I do. I’m very into biometrics lately!” 

Daniel shrugged and let his mercurial husband have his lead. Cecil very carefully measured his neck, shoulders, chest and arms, then somewhat more cursorily did the same to the babies. He wrote it all down in his notebook.

“What about you?” Daniel said, observing him.

“What about me, what?” Cecil asked, scribbling things down. 

“What about your own measurements? Don’t you need those?”

Cecil shook his head. “Already got ‘em.” 

“Oh, all right then.” Daniel turned his attention back to the bouncing babies.

_The next day, breakfast._

“Danny,” Cecil asked, munching on a piece of gluten-free toast. “Danny, if you could eat anything, what would it be? In terms of a cake flavor.”

Daniel looked up from the morning paper. “Cake? Dearest, why?”

“Just curious.”

“Well,” Daniel said, putting the newspaper down. “Well, I tend to prefer strong flavours.”

Cecil nodded, then took out his notebook from his dressing gown and made a note. “Okay.”

“But why?”

“Oh, uh, maybe Eugene will come over,” Cecil said. “And you know how he likes the cake, Danny. Cake cake cake cake all the time.”

Daniel nodded, picking up his paper again. “Yes, Eugene does like cake.”

Cecil looked down at his notebook. “So, uh, Danny… You and Claire, you’re twins, right?”

Daniel considered for a moment. “Yes, I suppose so. We were activated on the same day.”

Cecil beamed. “That’s great! Can I have her phone number, please?”

“Why?”

“Look, you know Abby, why shouldn’t I get to know Claire?”

Fair enough. Daniel rattled off Claire’s cell phone number to Cecil, who wrote it down.

The morning progressed as mornings do, and Daniel left for work.

_That night._

Daniel woke from his recharging haze and found the other side of the bed cold and empty. He froze. What peril had overcome Cecil?

_Click click click_

He heard a metallic clicking sound. Robot scorpions? Had robot scorpions come and taken his husband? He sat up with a start and listened again.

_Click click click_

Slowly, stealthily he crept through the house toward the sound… He traced it to the living room. He turned the corner, silencing his fans…

Cecil was sitting in the rocking chair, knitting needles in hand, a western on the television.

Daniel cleared his throat, so as not to startle Cecil, then went into the living room.

“Cecil, Dearest, what are you doing?”

Cecil barely looked up. “Knitting.”

“But what are you knitting at this hour? You should be in bed.”

“I’m knitting your face!” Cecil yelled, then looked contrite. “I’m sorry, I’m sleepy and weird.” He stood and put the knitting on the chair, then sat back down, wincing slightly. “I’m knitting a cozy for the refrigerator. I’m sick of our children going into the kitchen and seeing a nude appliance! It’s indecent!”

Daniel frowned. “Well, the refrigerator is a naturist, but I’m sure she could be convinced to wear a cozy while the children are around.” 

Cecil smiled, relieved. “You’re so understanding, Love. Just go on back to bed, I’ll be there shortly.”

Daniel went back to bed. When he was fully-charged the next morning, Cecil was there. Daniel was happy.

_Four weeks later._

Daniel was sitting in his office perusing some papers when Claire came through the door.

“It is time to leave,” she said.

“Oh, yes?” Daniel looked at his stack of work.

“Yes. Your life partner requests my presence and yours at your home for an evening meal.”

“Oh, well, then.” Daniel set his paperwork down and stood. “Let’s go, shall we?”

He walked to the parking garage, Claire following along at his side. He got to his car and unlocked it with the key fob, then opened Claire’s door for her. Claire sat in the passenger seat and Daniel closed the door, then went around to the driver’s side and got in the car.

There was no need to adjust the mirrors, as the car was already perfectly set for Daniel’s stature. He pulled smoothly out of the space, then drove through the garage and out onto Desert Bluff’s main thoroughfare. 

As he navigated the traffic, Claire spoke. 

“Why does your life partner, the human designated Cecil, ask such intrusive questions?”

Daniel turned his head toward her for a moment before refocusing on the road. “Intrusive questions? Please elaborate.”

Claire gave a digitized snort. “He called me on my cellular telephone. He asked for the dimensions of my neck, shoulders, chest, and waist.”

Daniel chuckled. “Oh, he’s been very into biometrics lately.”

Claire regarded him cooly. “And this does not concern you?”

Daniel waggled his head back and forth. “Trust is the foundation of a relationship, Sister. Some day I hope you will understand.”

Claire nodded. For the rest of their trip, they listened to static on the radio. They pulled into the driveway of the little ranch house Cecil, Daniel and their children shared, then Daniel parked the car.

They made their way onto the porch. Daniel opened the door, noting that the curtains on the picture window were uncharacteristically closed. He tensed. 

He went into the house. All the lights were out, and even his perfected bio-optic sensors had a hard time adjusting to the change in light levels. Everything was a haze. He heard the whirr of Claire’s sensors behind his right shoulder.

“There are many life forms here,” she warned. 

Daniel grabbed an umbrella from a stand near the door and turned the corner, raising his weapon in the air. As he did, the lights snapped on.

“SURPRISE!” yelled a great many humans.

Daniel blinked and shook his head. As he did, he saw the smiling face of his husband.

“Cecil?”

“Happy Activation Day!” Cecil shouted, then grabbed him in a close hug.

“It’s my… my…”

“And Claire’s, too!” Cecil said, nuzzling into his chest.

As Cecil spoke, Daniel scanned the room. Everyone he’d gotten to know and care about was there: Old Woman Josie and a few Erikas; Janice, Abby, and Steve; Eugene; even John Peters, you know, the Farmer was there. He turned to Claire.

“Today is our Activation Day?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“And you did not make me aware.”

“No. It was not relevant.”

Cecil laughed. “Oh, you crazy kids!” He put conical party hats on Daniel and Claire. “Come on, celebrate!” The Erikas shuffled over, bearing glasses of ferrofluid.

Daniel took his glass and looked at Cecil. “Darling, did you do this?”

Cecil nodded and giggled. “Do you like it?”

Daniel considered for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Cecil bobbed in place and vibrated. “Oooooh, good, ‘cause there’s Mexican chocolate cake with chiles and cinnamon, and there’s prezzies!” He handed a box to Daniel and one to Claire. “G’won g’won open ‘em…”

Daniel opened the present and Claire did the same. Inside were matching knitted jumpers in a lemon yellow. One had a knitted “D” and the other a knitted “C”. Both had stylized robot heads underneath the letters.

“Do you like them?” Cecil asked, bobbing up onto the balls of his feet. “They’re Strex Yellow, so you can wear them on dress-down days…”

Daniel noticed Claire hesitating, so he pulled his sweater on, over his suit. Even then, one arm was longer than the other, and the head-hole was about three times too big. 

“It’s perfect, Cecil. Thank you.”

Cecil launched himself at Daniel. “Ooooh, I’m so glad you like it!” He kissed him. “And, you know, I have a special present for you, later,” he purred.

Claire looked at Cecil and Daniel, confused. “Would it not be better to give him the gift now, as it seems to be the designated gift-giving time?”

Cecil blushed, but Daniel nodded and pressed his index finger to Claire’s temple, giving her the needed information. She shuddered and made a face.

“I believe this is when humans say ‘yuck.’” 

Abby giggled and grabbed Claire’s arm. She was flushed, and held a glass of white wine in her hand. “Tell me about it, Sweetie. C’mon, let’s talk crap about our gross brothers.”

Old Woman Josie looked at the pair and tsk-ed. “Girls. Girls! If you don’t have anything nice to say… come sit next to me!” She joined the pair and retired to the corner.

The rest of the party went well. Cecil yelled at Steve, Janice played with the babies. Eugene apologized too much for eating too much cake. John Peters (you know, the farmer) stared wordlessly at their family photographs on the walls. Josie and Abby made sure Claire got good and intoxicated on ferrofluids. 

“I don’t understand this headgear,” she said, pulling at her party hat. “It offers neither warmth nor protection from the elements.”

“It means you’re the birthday party princess,” Abby giggled, while quaffing her chardonnay.

“Oh. Well, then, that’s acceptable,” said Claire, nodding.

“You’re okay, sister-in-law.”

“Double sister,” corrected her husband.

Several hours later, after shots of tequila and ferrofluids were had, the party started to break up. Cecil and Daniel saw them all out. (Steve, Abby and Janice giving Claire and Eugene a ride home, and Josie getting home by “divine intervention,” whatever that was, and John Peters just… disapparating_) 

Finally, they were alone, just Cecil, Daniel, and the babies, who were strangely sticky despite having only one bite of cake apiece. 

“I think Eugene might have possibly fed them more,” Cecil said, putting the frosting-smeared Lentil into her crib.

“Agreed,” said Daniel.

Cecil chuckled and tucked Lentil in, then reached for Daniel. “Ready for bed?”

Daniel kissed his hand. “Yes.”

The two walked together across the foot and a half of space that separated their room from the babies’. Once the door shut, Cecil dropped to his knees and opened Daniel’s belt. 

“You ready for your _special present_?”

Daniel nodded and smiled down at Cecil. No doubt, this was the best birthday ever.


End file.
